Yet It Rains
by He-Jay the Kimchi Poutine
Summary: Contains themes: Suicide, Death. Afterthoughts of Vertigo Before the Rain. He may have thought himself a forgettable, insignificant boy, but what was he to those who cared? Go to his grave and ask him if he knew how many tears were shed for him, how many lives were changed by him, if anything mattered to him. The silence is your answer.
1. Raven's Denial

**I recommend reading Vertigo before this for context relevant to some elements in this story. This is a mini-series, not really a sequel, but a flicker to show that not everything ends with death. When a pebble is thrown into a pond, it sinks. But the ripples echo to all who hear, and the water's surface quivers. Like Vertigo, there will be five chapters.**

**Pity and sorrow are wasted upon the dead. Sympathize with the living, and pity those who have been left behind upon a world that will show them no mercy. Pitied are those who have seen the face of death and still live to endure life's trials.**

**University of Altera**

* * *

When they last talked to each other, she looked like she had been crying. But her eyes were dry as she looked defiantly into his eyes, saying,

"_We should break up."_

That was it. No accusations, emotional blackmail, no giving second chances. He said nothing as he stared back, expressionless. He had been rejected before. This was only one breakup amongst many in his history. This was nothing.

But that didn't mean the questions didn't come. What could he have done better? Was it really worth ending it like this? Did he even deserve it? Why couldn't he have done better? Why couldn't _she?_

"_Did you…hear me?"_ Her voice stuttered on the last syllable.

He grunted a yes.

"_Okay. Good. I'm sorry it…ended like this. Do…do you…have anything you want to say?"_

He didn't respond.

"_All right…bye." _A click and his monitor went blank as she turned her webcam off. For a few minutes he started at the black screen with an unchanged expression. Crumpled in a ball across the room was an old newspaper with the photograph of a redhead with the headline barely legible: **University—Suicide—Something something—**

That kid, what was his name? Elsword? Raven never talked much to him; it was the squirt that pestered him with his incessant chatter, the constant flow of questions. If all of them were cast as movie characters Raven guessed that the redhead would be the one that served as comic relief. The kid was harmless—although he was slightly jealous of how Renata doted on him, but screw that now—and now he was dead. On purpose.

Maybe _that_ was why they broke up. Because she loved that kid so damn much and she wanted to join him in his grave.

Even to him that excuse sounded pathetic. No, he could never accuse her of infidelity, not when she was a freaking angel to every cat and dog that crossed her path. Maybe if that little shit didn't go kill himself it wouldn't be so doom and gloom.

School papers. Bills. Government forms. Letter from the university warning him of academic probation. More bills. Tax forms. His acceptance letter. Snail mail from his ex. It reeked of her perfume: Lilies of the Valley. He cursed himself for remembering.

Fuck this, fuck that, screw it all! With a swipe of his arm, the stash of papers was catapulted into the wastebasket. Some sheets missed the bin entirely, flopping feebly to the ground like wasted dreams and other pointless trash.

Tossed onto his bed was his phone, still. He let out a harsh chuckle; almost all of his exes had bombarded him with text messages after the breakup, the messages ranging from angry rants to outright desperation to death threats. Not this one, though. She was a tough one, always had been. Or maybe she was still sobbing over the kid's body. Not that he cared.

He thought—or maybe hoped—that she would lose her shit when she found out. Girls were melodramatic, after all. Renata wasn't a rock-face like Evangeline, either. She must have been visibly upset when she realized that he and Serine were on/off. He regretted sleeping with her the morning after, and in retrospect, if he had just 'fessed up right after it happened maybe it wouldn't have gone so bad. Instead he chose to try and hide it like a coward. Naturally it blew up in his face.

Oh, she confronted him about it, a while back. She was still in Sander, doing her charity work and all, but she used her webcam to ask him. No beating around the bush or hysterical denial. She knew. When he realized, he swore to find the squealer and rip him(or her) a new one.

"_How'd you know?"_

"_Does it matter?"_

Thinking back upon it now, it probably didn't, not anymore.

Conversation was unrestrained emotion. He confirmed the truth, said it was only a fling. His defensive excuses for his betrayal varied from a drinking party gone wrong to a what-did-you-expect-I-have-needs bluster. She said some harsh words too, and when both sides finally burnt out, there was a graveyard of pain and exhaustion between them.

It was shit. He felt like shit, and he was pretty sure she did, too.

Serine was feisty. He wasn't sure what his relationship to her was, probably a cross between on/off rebound and friends-with-benefits. Getting drunk and sleeping with her was a regrettable decision, yes, but it wasn't going to go anywhere. Of course he couldn't really forgive her for sleeping with his former best friend Alexius and a whole bunch of other crap that hurt his head, but Serine was okay when she wasn't being a total bitch.

Which was to say, not often…

Renata was…she was just Renata. She looked like the classic good girl, helping orphans and getting 3-something GPA and all that jazz. But not only did she have her own flair, she was _nice_. Not in the self-righteous, politely condescending I'm-better-than-you-bitch way. She was genuinely nice, the kind of nice that would make Serine puke her guts out.

She had even reached out to him and his friends, offering them cookies left over from a charity bake sale. That was how they had first met. The cookies were good, too.

She was nice in the way that she sincerely accepted everyone, but was never domineering or poking around in other people's business. She just reached out, and understood, like she did with him, the kid, rock-face, etc. She wasn't naïve in understanding the harsher parts of the world, either. Except that Elsword kid fucked things up, big time.

How did it feel to be in a relationship with her? He couldn't say. It just _felt_, and that itself was a surprise. He felt it as he felt warm sunshine or dewy grass on his skin. Gentle.

Clambering outside, he sat on the front steps, taking out a small lighter. No one to tell him he shouldn't smoke anymore. Fuck the environment and his lungs.

Aaaaaand he realized that he had no cigarettes; she had taken them away to prevent future cravings. And like a dumbass, he had allowed her to. Muttering obscenities under his breath, he trudged towards the nearest convenience store.

It had been days, weeks, whatever. He was in the single market now! Every girl that crushed on him he could easily charm them to bed. Well, not always the bed; sometimes against the wall, back of a car, or on a table. He wasn't picky. There were plenty of people who'd gladly have a tumble with him. His prosthetic arm seldom hindered his chances; some chicks saw it as a major turn-on.

The bell jingled as the door to _B4-1 Convenience Mart_ flung open. The cashier, evidently a part-time student employee, looked at him, back at his book, at him again, nodded, and re-lapsed into the book.

Hey, the clerk…even before he glanced at the name tag, he knew. "Eve's ex…?"

The kid looked back up and did a double-take. It was truly a small world; he refused to acknowledge that title, however, as he glared and pointed to his name tag: Kim.

The older boy shrugged, he didn't really care. "Alterasia Brand cigarettes, two packs."

"Premium or Goldcrest?"

The fuck were those? "The normal kind."

"Both have been out for a while, _sir_."

"Then the premium will do, _Kim_." He answered with equal sarcasm.

Sighing, he took down two small boxes. "5, 137 ED."

Holy shit! "When did it get so expensive?"

"Government Law, Act XXVII. Enacted last December."

Last December? When did he hear of such a law last December? Last December was when…when that kid, that redhead, died. Drug overdose. Or was it by hanging? Either way it was suicide, which was pointless. It was that stupid kid that Renata kinda adopted as her younger brother. And now he was thinking of _her_ again. Damn it.

He grunted, tossing a 20, 000 ED bill over the counter. He answered Kim's obvious irritation with a smirk. Go on, count the exact change…

"Have a nice day." Kim said after the transaction like an ancient voicemail repeated too many times. The bells jingled as the door slammed shut.

_Snap! Snap!_ It took a couple of tries, but eventually a flame erupted from the lighter, and soon he was puffing away, contributing his share to air pollution. Yeah, that's right; suck it up, lungs.

He could almost hear Renata's voice, gentle but firm, as she nagged him to not ruin his health, listing all the reasons why smoking was toxic to him and everyone around him…

His lips curled into a sneer as he deliberately inhaled the carcinogenic air around him, as if to spite a Renata who was no longer his. She probably wouldn't give two shits about him now, anyway.

Walking along the street, he somehow ended up in the midnight club. He hadn't been here since ages.

Shaggy hair, white streak, golden eyes, cross chain, sick fashion, and a cigarette in his mouth to top it all off. He was back where he once was. All of a sudden, girls were fawning over him, guys were glaring at him, bouncers eyed him suspiciously, and there was a martini in his hand. A good start, he supposed. Bright neon lights, pounding music that made his eardrums pulse, bodies rubbing and clinging together on the dance floor…

Elsword once asked him if the elder liked clubbing. That time he said "not anymore", but that was when he was still with her, of course. Stupid kid always asked him irrelevant questions, but after she left, he didn't have much time to waste with him and the other guys as much…but that didn't mean he _hated_ them. Maybe if…if he had talked to them more…

A final prick of the conscience reminded him that this was not the paradise he wanted to believe. He did not feel the elation of an addict re-lapsing into ecstasy or any revelation of truth. The only truth was that she was gone.

And she mattered.

The last protests of his mind were quelled as he gave in to the music, the lights, and the people. A seductive smile, a kiss, and he was now part of the cult of hedonistic youth which would last till never.

There was a time, a long time ago, when he saw Renata as a mere replacement for Serine. The resembled each other on a superficial level, with the same golden hair, fair skin, light-coloured eyes. She was hurt when he had told her that, but she understood. So why was it that now, seeing Serine grinding against him in a low-cut dress and fuchsia lipstick, the only thought that came to mind was how Renata would never wear that in public?

It didn't matter.

"_We should break up."_

She didn't matter.

* * *

**I know Vertigo is one of my shorter, passive stories but at the behest of a friend and thoughts of my own, I believed that these chapters would work as some kind of epilogue or closure.**


	2. Aisha's Fury

Blinding white sunlight streaked through the windows, highlighting her hair in subtle shades of dark violet. Clumps of filth-mixed snow were littered across the outside grounds, reflecting the rays in a harsh glare. She hated the white light. It was too bright and made everything look sharper and colder in an unforgiving luminescence.

Aisha liked the sun better when it was golden yellow. Turning her back to the offending windows, she continued walking.

It was amazing how quickly the world around her picked itself up from mourning. Many of her classmates and peers had written heartfelt and encouraging comments upon _his_ death, rueful of his loss and lamenting how they would have gladly befriended him and saved him from his tragic demise. The campus' mental health awareness groups definitely used him to promote their cause. At times it had felt that his death wasn't completely meaningless, and that the community was changing, for the better.

However, the impact upon the public diminished with time. The tragedy was still present, but not as strong, and therefore, not as real. It transitioned from a devastating loss to a distant, troubled enigma that became just another statistic. The world stopped for no one and time urged the cycle of the millions to continue as before.

Talks of Elsword Sieghart subsided as far more interesting news came to light. A vicious cyclone had hit the south coast of Fluone, right on Lunox with high casualty rates. A mainstream pop group called the _Esperado Diablos_ released their newest single, 'Overpowered for Salt'. A girl in her Biochemistry class dropped out because she was pregnant. And so on. Any mention of the redheaded boy was met with an uncomfortable, half-sympathetic shrug and vague regrets that become vaguer with every repetition. The stigma associated with her, not to mention the whispers that deem her as one of the triggers to his death, furthered her inner isolation.

Everyone was moving on. She should, too. She tried damn hard to forget. Her life was busy enough to begin with but now she's committed to working her ass off 24/7. Study, tutor, club activities, even a part-time job now at the _Phoru Patisserie_, where she received all the reject Phoru Cookies at the end of every Friday.

Any significant downtime she got was too much time for her to think.

Yet her mind was a masochist in taking every opportunity to make her feel like shit. Aisha remembered often complaining about Elsword's habits that frequently annoyed her, like his childish tendencies to pull on her hair, his wisecracks, his teasing of how skinnier he was than her, and his relentless fountain of chattering that had threatened to drown out her sanity. But the resounding silence now was even louder as she walked to the bus stop, alone.

She remembered complaining about her life's annoyances every day; her biology professor who always went two minutes past the allotted lecture time, her cousin Armenia who called her every night for help on her essays; Elsword who dragged her around campus, getting into all sorts of trouble.

When all of them had faded away, that was when she realized how precious those notes were to the rhythm of her existence. It was more than sentimental nostalgia. They were elements of her world, made important by their absence.

Studying with Allegro, Mr. Lento's brother, reminded her of the Ethics tutorials they were late to, and the stupid questions Elsword would ask that were answered with philosophical replies that awed the class. Elsword was the one joined the chemistry club so she wouldn't feel stupid going alone. It was Elsword who had bailed her out of having to go on a date with Benjamin "Banthus" Thuse, one of the campus thugs. Elsword was reliable, insufferable, and wonderful. Dead now.

After the funeral, his Aunt Helen had attempted to console her, telling her that she should take care of herself and that "he wouldn't not want you to be crippled by his loss."

Bullshit! None of them, not even her, knew what he wanted! He was stupid and selfish and didn't care for anyone other than himself! She wallowed in alternating stages of anguish and fury, grief propelling her to indignation. She had thought him a friend when Elsword Sieghart was a selfish little bastard. Now he was gone.

What had he been thinking when he gave her her Christmas present? Was he planning to end his own life then, too? Sometimes she thought that she should have invited him to come along with her, even if he barely knew her high school friends. But would that have saved him? Was it her fault, then, that she did not prevent the worst from happening?

She saw his sister, utterly destroyed. Elsword was supposed to have been a groomsman for a wedding that seemed bleak now. She talked to Renata over the phone, and she could hear the elder struggling to not let her voice crack so much. Even the school outcast, Kim, skulked around to fit the gloom. She met people she never knew existed who cared for Elsword in some way.

How dare he spit on their compassion by killing himself? It was like the ultimate act of spite, selfishness…how could he do that to everyone? To her? To his sister? Such thoughts enraged her as she hurried to her workplace.

Sometimes she was so angry that her hands trembled. Another horrible thing was that when she was furious beyond reason, her body's reaction was to _cry_. So when she was mad, nobody could take her seriously because of her tears of rage. But she wasn't sad. She was _**mad**_. How could you, Meathead? Was she that insignificant a friend for him to run off and disappear?

"Miss Aisha, please try not to overwork the dough so much."

She looked down; any further and it would have become mangled mush. "Sorry."

"I'll take over the dough. Why don't you make the baked custard?"

"Right. Okay." She wiped her hands on the apron, dusting flour off her fingers before going to get the eggs.

Elsword would have laughed at the fluffy decorations; he had never thought much of Phorus in general. He would have made a jibe at her pink-apron-puffed-sleeved outfit. But then he would have growled at anyone else who insulted her in a similar manner, and ask her to sneak him a few tarts.

"Welcome~!" She called out as the bell tinkled, indicating a customer.

After sending the client away with a box of macaroons, her colleague turned to her. "Miss Aisha, could you please get the gelato from the freezer? We're almost out."

When the bell tinkled again, for the strange, bizarre reason, she almost expected Elsword to come in and…and…oh El, she was going insane now, wasn't she? Funny that he haunted her thoughts even more now that he was physically gone. It infuriated her. He wasn't worth her time. It was pointless in mourning a corpse of a memory. And she wasn't mourning. She was just mad.

She cracked the eggs, pretending that each of them was Elsword; a childish, dark kind of humorous play. She was careful in not letting any eggshell pieces get in the mixture. She had worked in the patisserie long enough to master egg-cracking at the least.

The last chimes of the bell faded as the lights were turned off, the sign flipped to 'Closed'. Packing away the last pieces of equipment and switching the fridges to energy-save mode, she headed to change. "Another day come and gone, huh?"

"Indeed, Miss Aisha." He smiled as he threw on his trench coat. "And tomorrow you get your free cookies. I hope you're not working here just to get the freebies?"

"I—no!" She flustered, and then realized that he was only kidding. "You make amazing Phoru Cookies, Cael, but I like working here, really."

"Relax, Miss Aisha, I was kidding." He chuckled, switching off the lights and opening the door for Aisha. "It's hectic in the bakery but you do everything competently. It's better than my housemate…"

Aisha had heard a bit about Mr. Cael's eccentric housemate; she had never met her, though. "Did she eat all the cheesecake again?"

"The cheesecake _and_ the tarts. If she knew I worked in a patisserie we would go bankrupt in a matter of days. She is an addict." He shook his head. "However, she left the oolong tea alone. She insists that we preserve it for our neighbours."

"Neighbours?"

"Yes, our—well, future neighbours. There is no one living next door to us just now. The last one was—in a serious accident, right after we moved in."

She nodded placidly, uncomprehending. "I see…"

Politely declining Cael's offer to drive her home, she trudged her way to the bus station. She imagined she looked like an idiot, just staring blankly into the expanse of night sky. The light pollution was lesser in this part of town, and she could see the stars dispersed across the dark.

Aisha was not devout in religion, but she believed in the concepts of souls, spirits, something that persisted after death. What was she thinking as she traipsed along the sidewalk, her face showing little emotion as she gazed at the stars? She heard somewhere that when a mortal dies, the sky weeps a tear of a single star to mourn their passing. Was her friend among the stars, or buried within his body, under mounds of dirt and muddy snow?

Bastard. Why was she being theoretical about it? He was dead. Dead! He was given the gift of life, had all the material comforts, a sister, an education in one of the best universities. And he threw it all away. The anger had been muted during the funeral, especially with his sister's breakdown, but she was bristling with resentment. Maybe it would help her feel better about it if she cried, but her sorrow was diluted by the intensity of her anger at a dead boy. Selfish, selfish bastard! She wished that he had failed in his suicide attempt so she could go to the hospital and beat the asshole half to death.

Her friend died because he couldn't stand living anymore, and all she could think about was wringing his neck out and screaming at him until her voice gave up. What a shitty person she was.

Aisha wasn't in denial, she knew he wasn't going to come back no matter how much she wanted to talk to him or beat the shit out of him. Elsword was never going to be there for her ever again.

His Christmas gift to her was just a physical reminder of his stupidity and her unimportance to him as a human being, wasn't it? He had first laughed when she told him of her interest with the magical elements associated with the legends of El; it was just fictional fantasy. He should have kept making fun of her for her silly fascination with such childish things. Instead, he gave her an elaborate keychain that had all six elements chained together around a spectral jewel that represented the El Stone, with the words 'Elemental Master' inscribed in the back. Now it just made her harder to forget, which infuriated her even more.

What was she supposed to do with it now? Just keep it and say "Thanks, dead guy"? Sometimes she wanted to throw it away, hurl it over a bridge and never look back. She almost did once, and then nearly fell over trying to get it back. So she kept it. Sometimes she would sit upon her bed, staring at it vacantly, as if scrutinizing the gemstones for answers. Other times she squeezed it so her that her fingers ached. Most times she kept it stashed in her bag, never letting it see the light of day because then it sparkled too brightly.

"_Get well soon!"_ She had said.

"_I will."_ He had said it so quietly Aisha wondered if he was talking to her or himself, but she had heard him. Back then, she didn't know there was an ulterior meaning behind those simple little words.

She was still angry at him. That was why her vision blurred, even now. She cried when she was mad. Stupid lying selfish asshole prick. She wasn't crying _for_ him. She was crying because she was mad; that belief was easier to accept. To believe that she—him—guilt—sadness would tear her apart. Rage was her crutch.

But she wouldn't admit that, not yet.


	3. Eve's Logic

Letty: I'm glad that you find my stories worth your time! Thank you very much :D I guess my works aren't very popular due to the overall angst and depressing plotlessness, but it is people like you that encourage me to keep writing. A death of any kind, especially suicide, does not take place lightly and affects many people. Yes, Elesis' fiancé is Aren, and their turn will come…soon. Thank you again for your review!

Kitty: Suicide is generally not a very cheerful topic ^^" The loss of a friend, brother, classmate is usually very sad.

* * *

There were many questions that ensued after the initial chaos. What happened? How long had he planned this? Who, or what, drove him to do it? The few answers that were given only raised more questions. Newspapers and broadcasts glossed the finer details, portraying him a friendless, tragic victim of society's indifference. His remaining family were vilified as neglectful and traitorous monsters.

She declined all interview requests from the local media. She had no interest in contributing to the ever-growing inaccuracies of his death and allowing news reports to twist every word to their advantage. The whole thing was insulting, anyway, to his memory.

With practiced fingers she parted her hair, braiding them into intricately woven side buns. It had taken years for her hair to grow to the suitable length for her to do so. Elsword had always wanted to touch her hair, claiming that the silver tresses resembled "unicorn silk", which resulted in a well-deserved smack.

Was she…too harsh with him, hitting as she did? She was careful not to inflict any real harm upon him unless she was truly angry, which was rare. Many times she had apologized to him for being irrationally violent and tried to be more courteous to him in an attempt to be nicer.

Naturally Elsword took those opportunities to bother her incessantly and poke fun until she lost her patience and reverted back to slapping him. Then he would laugh and say that he wouldn't have it any other way and that it wasn't fun when she was stiff on him. He was cocksure and a brat, but his company was pleasing as well as entertaining. As an actual person, he was…pleasant.

Pinning the last clip to secure her bun, she surveyed herself in the mirror again. Golden eyes stared back, expression unchanged. Her 'unicorn hair' didn't shine as brightly as before.

How did she meet him? She was noted for her photographic but selective memory. She remembered going into Algebra office hours where a horde of students were gathered to bombard Professor Horatio with questions about the final, which resulted in a mini-lecture in his very crowded office. The elderly gentleman had a booming voice which he had used to to call her out for her being on her cellphone, where everyone laughed at her flustered face. That was how they had ended up studying together.

He had a carefree spirit, though he knew his responsibilities. He was one of the very few who had regarded her facial markings with fascinated admiration rather than the hair eyeballs she was accustomed to. He made the lamest jokes, blurted out words that never made sense, and a solid sense of sarcasm.

Carefully, she rubbed cream over her face tattoos. They marked her as part of the Nasodia family; the simple blue stripes, one on each face, symbolized her maturity.

The blue and golden designs on her forehead marked her as the eldest of her family, therefore the heir. Elsword had never failed to find the meaning behind her markings so interesting.

But he was nice. It was hard to imagine him as a younger brother when he was helpful to everyone and rattled off random stories and such. He even played with her twin brothers when they came to campus, and they liked it well enough. He was…nice. Kind.

So nice that Evangeline herself had fallen for him.

It was a simple crush, of course. Nothing like Kim's disgusting obsession with her where he had sent her desperate messages and awkward material gifts with notes swearing audacious declarations of 'love' and other words fit for the dumpster. No, Evangeline never _loved _Elsword. She had a childish and trivial crush on him that she concealed as best as she could behind a stoic mask and physical aggression.

Besides, it was evident that Aisha liked him, and Evangeline would never let her selfish feelings interfere with any of her friendships.

She had kept her infatuation obscured from the public eye. But as much as she could control her actions, she had little power over her own feelings which she constantly denied and attempted to quash. They grew, making her heart stutter whenever he talked to her, flushing her face when he smiled at her, pricking her with jealousy whenever she saw him do the same to other girls. Every day was an internal war inside her mind, her wretched emotions aflutter.

And she hated that she liked him so. It made her feel weak and pathetic. She knew (or at least, believed adamantly that she knew) that he could never feel the same way for her, that he was friendly to everyone, and that she would only be a friend. It hurt, and it was a hurt that study or work could not heal.

After the disaster with her last boyfriend, the potential humiliation and conflict with Aisha she would face if Elsword knew of her childish feelings, and knowing that Elsword had little interest in dating (he told her himself—"Dating doesn't seem right for me at all"—so maybe he _did _know and was being subtle about it), she had decided to cast him out of her life entirely, hoping that the distance would purge her of these damned emotions and force her to grow up.

Putting the cream back into the washroom cupboard, she busied herself with putting on her makeup.

Wasn't that why she began to meet other people? Because the immature, emotionally irrational part of her liked him so much! That was the core reason, although she never dared admit it to anyone else, not even Echo. She forced herself to stop searching for Elsword, to pretend she didn't notice him walking down the hallway, to only restrain herself to a curt nod and a casual wave if he knew she saw him.

Besides, he was surrounded by people wherever he went. He wouldn't even miss her, so insignificant as she was. He was liked and accepted by everyone. She was a taciturn, anti-social girl who was not at all amicable to the public. She withdrew further, into her shell.

Eventually, Elsword stopped teasing her, stopped talking as much. It hurt, but it was a hurt she could deal with, better than unrequited feelings.

Her flawless skin was a genetic blessing from her bloodline. She didn't need to put too much foundation.

Her friendship with Elsword and Aisha remained casual, but more polite than friendly. She found solace in Echo, new friends, new people in her program, and for a while, things were looking up. She didn't feel as weak with her emotions. The periods where she forgot Elsword entirely became longer, more permanent. Under her iron self-discipline, her heart would change.

Of course he would pop up in her thoughts intermittently and for a quick moment the old ache would resurface, but it had less and less gravity as time progressed. It was better, less humiliating that way.

And then he had to go and commit suicide.

The shock was equivalent to a full-front double-decker bus hitting her head-on. There was no surging anger or bomb of tears that first seized her. It was simply pure shock. After the initial shock, it was as if she was staring into a vacant grey sky, devoid of cloud or stars. Just grey.

She had trouble keeping her hand steady when applying mascara. She did not want to poke her eye with the brush again. Echo said that the black of the mascara with the gold of her eyes looked like smoky sunsets.

Could she have saved him? Evangeline highly doubted it. If he wanted to talk to her he could have simply sent her a text or a call. The fact that he didn't meant that he didn't trust her enough, she supposed. She wasn't important enough to him to possibly save him. He was smiling and joking with everyone he talked to, and she just assumed he had little problems, or people to help him with whatever problems he had.

Evangeline never liked lipstick. It felt like her lips were caked with clay. Pink lip gloss was lighter, better.

Guilt? Remorse? Denial? Was she supposed to feel those? But she couldn't get close to him. It would have been weird to just talk to him after avoiding him and forgetting him for so long. To be sure, she wasn't sure what to exactly feel towards his death, to Elsword. He had been a friend, a crush, an acquaintance, a virtual stranger, and now she didn't know what he was to her anymore. Therefore, she didn't know how to properly mourn him.

She had gotten used to sealing her feelings under a careful mask of composure and grace. She felt the loss, certainly. Acknowledging the fact that he would never poke her again or call her "4.0 of 4.0s" or ask her about her facial markings…took some time; he was really gone. She knew it, everybody knew it, but it was like her mind had accepted those words on a superficial level.

Setting down the eyeliner, she looked at the reflection of her painted, refined face. It was good enough.

Rumours evolved, people chattered, and the talk would never cease. For many, herself included, the suicide of Elsword Sieghart would forever remain a mystery. Tragic, of course, but always wrapped in an enigma. The only person to know his thoughts completely was Elsword himself, and he was dead. One newspaper said he had had clinical depression that was untreated for months; another said he had been dosing on drugs.

Whispers at university weren't any better. Some said that he was a wretched victim of bullying(?), neglected and excluded by his friends, his sister, by Aisha. Aisha! How could anyone blame Aisha? Eve knew that Aisha and Elsword were close as friends. She didn't know Elsword even had an older sister.

It wasn't her place to interfere or know any of this. That was the media's job, was it not? Her curiosity would never be satisfied, and perhaps, eventually, she would learn to be all right with having so many unanswered questions. The grey sky would lighten up then.

One of the many ramblings Elsword had told her—told all of his friends—was how when he died, he wanted to die _in space_. It was when Renata was still here and Raven tolerated her presence. All of them had given strange looks at his outburst, although she was the first one to ask the reasoning behind his ridiculous wish.

"_Because then I can travel through space and see everything. You don't need air when you're dead, right? If I was buried in the ground I'd be stuck there forever. But in space I can go anywhere, the sun, the moon, and it won't cost me a cent!"_

(That time Evangeline refrained from telling him that sending his body into space would cost a tremendous amount of ED on its own. After all, let him dream…)

Rosso Cemetery. That was where he was buried, on earthly soil, so…that was that.

He was dead. Sad for everyone who cared for him and everyone he cared for. But she fit into none of those categories. He certainly never cared, and she…her crush on him was a juvenile fancy. That was that, that was all, and there was really nothing else that she could delve into about it...

At least, that was the most logical, pragmatic way to look at it…she had never once suspected that he would do what he did. Did she even know him as a friend at all? Did that mean she didn't actually _like_ him, that she only liked the idea of him? Was she being too theoretical again—

"_Drop to ma~i feh-isu~! FALLING RAIN~~"_

Unfazed, she picked up her phone. "Took your time coming, Echo."

[Traffic was shit, Eve. -Giggling in the background- You ready? Everyone else is here, come on!]

She looked in the mirror one last time, tucking her bangs to the side. Makeup, hair, dress, heels; all done. Grabbing her bag from the table, she remembered to lock the door before power-walking to Echo's car, where everyone was waiting. They were her new friends, and they were alive. She reminded herself that that was what mattered more.

"Where are we going again?" She asked as she climbed in.

Seated beside Eve, Lucy grinned as she twirled her hair between her fingers. "Somewhere fun."

"It'll be nice getting away from campus. Step on it, Echo!" Camilla yelled.

Echo obliged, hitting the gas pedal. With an angry screech of tires, the car spun around and plunged down the evening road leading to downtown Feita.

There were still many questions. Was the blank space in her head sadness, acknowledgement, or something else entirely? No, she shook it off. She had to. She joined the chatter with her friends, leaving her doubt and forlorn disquiet behind with the fumes of car exhaust. Death, life, happiness, friends, family, school, work, future, past, everything. It would all work out somehow…


	4. Elesis' Grief

**Xetton:** Granted. Glad to know you're enjoying it.

**Letty:** Haha no no, it wasn't exactly romance (Eve would smack you if she heard that), just a crush. Did Elsword know? I'm not sure. Maybe if he did know for certain, he would have had something worth living for. And Chung and Ara don't have any significant connection to Elsword, and so they woulnd't mourn him deeply. I'm glad my skills of angst can tug some heartstrings in the fandom. Thank you so much for your support! It means a lot.

* * *

She thought she had been staying strong for him. She thought he would understand. She thought so many thoughts that were useless now, the silence ringing in her ears. It was so loud. In the deathlike hush, the tormented whispers would never cease.

Door clicks open. The faint scent of spice wafts in. He always brings tea. Says it would make her feel better. Better, he says, not good; because there is nothing that can make her feel 'good' again. He sets the cup on her nightstand, watches her huddled in a ball on the bed. Why doesn't she use the blankets? She feels hollow, cold, empty, even with a thousand blankets cocooned around her.

"Elesis." He tugs her sleeve. The sleeve used to be wet with her tears. It is now always dry, and that is worse. Her eyes are blank, the spark that defined her spirit, dead. He speaks words that she can hear but not understand.

In the first months, when she was still able to cry, all her tears were shed upon sympathetic shoulders, dusty tissues, and restless blankets upon sleepless nights. It had felt like her had been clashed open and rubbed in with salt; the pain lingered in rippling convulsions that seized her until she wanted to scream, which she had.

_When he was little, he had a lisp and could only say the first two syllables of her name coherently. He would follow her around on his chubby toddler legs, saying "Eltha, Eltha." with a wide gap-toothed smile. He wasn't very fussy as an infant, she remembered their mother saying that. He was the jolliest baby, shrieking with delight whenever their father threw him up in the air, only to catch him in his arms._

Even as he outgrew the lisp, his name for her had been firmly imprinted in his childhood as he would call out to her in the voice she could never hear again except through memory: "Elsa!"

She sips her tea, not because she's particularly thirsty, but to please him as he watches her. The ceramic cup scalds her fingers and burns her tongue. But it makes her feel warm, if even for a little while.

There weren't very many photos of him as a child. The few that survived, she clung to them like bits of gold panned from a river gone dry. They were proof that there _had_ been happier times, as bleak as everything seemed now. Looking upon the photos, the innocent smiles forever frozen; sometimes she found solace in them, the past remembrances urging her to continue living.

_He hated being left alone. The one time they played hide-and-seek, he thought she had gone missing after half an hour of finding her and started crying, alerting their parents of her disappearance. He was four. Four! She lectured him to not cry, because big boys aren't supposed to cry, but in the end she still hugged him and promised him that she would never leave him._

_Ah, the promises of a naïve girl not yet eight years old. But she had been strong then._

Mostly, they were her ghosts, plaguing her. She had made plenty of mistakes in her life so far, but several of her greatest failures remained outstanding in memory: deciding to stay with Aunt Berthe after their her parents died; leaving Elsword at the mercy of Uncle Glaive while she learned welding with Lenphad so she could enter the workforce as quickly as possible…it stung her to think of how badly she had screwed up as she hurried to mature and become fully capable instead of a stumbling girl-child pretending to play grown-up.

"Elesis." He takes the cup from her hands. He wraps her in his arms. Her body was always slender; she is thin now, dangerously so. She slumps against him like a wet noodle. Once she hated it when he got clingy; she wasn't one for overly affectionate gestures. He wished she would fight back like she used to. Her unresponsiveness is unnerving.

He holds her tighter. "Elesis." He doesn't say anything else. His head inclines on her shoulder, dark hair trembling. She strokes his hair, a mechanical action. There is no strength in her arm; she does it out of habit.

Thinking back on it now, she was still a child. What did it matter to her, when all she thought she had to do was send a portion of her paycheque to the little brother back home? It was like keeping a pet Phoru, leaving it free to do whatever as long as she kept it fed.

But Elsword wasn't a Phoru and he had needed more than material needs. She should've known that! But…she did know that. She just kept putting it off, in the hopes to make enough so it wouldn't fall apart; she had seen that happen too many times to risk it. She wanted…she wanted happiness. And through the hardships, she had found that happiness in the form of a man, Aren Haan. For a brief time, through the sweat and tears, she thought that maybe things were going her way for a change.

"_Elisabeth Penelope Sieghart, your soul makes mine smile with purity." He had said—he had an esoteric way of speech, especially with his Fahrmann dialect—which made his words all the more intrinsic and meaningful._

_He convinced her to believe in an idyllic dream she had clung onto for so long that she forgot it could ever become a reality: having a family again. He encouraged her to keep hoping that one day, her little brother could come back and stay with her—permanently. Once she amassed enough money, she could either get citizenship for him here or relocate to Altera._

_Aren and his little sister were also orphaned, having been raised communally by their clan till maturity. They could all live together and she could finally look after Elsword like a proper sister he needed and the mother he remembered little of, if any. She savoured the dream…_

He feels guilt, too. For letting her dream such a wonderful dream that had now become a horrible nightmare that pervaded her conscious. He holds her tightly as if she would slip away from his grasp if he released her to her dark thoughts.

She should have known better than think that Fortune would look favourably upon her for too long. Now the blood of her last true family, the blood of Elsword was on her hands. Despair consumed her. Her tears and pleas for forgiveness, redemption, all fell upon a silent grave.

How many times had she had to turn her back on the little boy, fiercely assuring herself that it was the best she could do? If she had stayed with him, both of them would have lived as dependents forever, surviving off the dwindling charity of their relatives who were relatives only by shared blood. She couldn't abandon him to that miserable fate. If it meant that things could change, she could leave him for a while, to make things better.

"_Hi, N__ū__na!" He tosses his bag on the ground, running in circles. He likes it best when she pretends she is a dragon, roaring as she picks him up and tries to toss him in the air, like their father used to. Her twelve-year-old arms are barely strong enough to throw him that much, but he giggles regardless. "Spin me!"_

_In the kitchen, Aunt Bertha yells her name, to come help her in the kitchen. She puts him down, her smile fading. He stops smiling, too. "N__ū__na…"_

"_I have to help Auntie." She doesn't look at him. "Go do your homework, first."_

She was wrong, just as she had been wrong in so many other things. Just what did she know, really?

When she…tried to follow her little brother, it seemed like no one would want to stop her. Why would they, when she was branded a merciless fiend, a person neglectful of her familial duties? She was a **failure**. She led the one remaining family member she loved to die. With such a sin on her conscience, what was even the point of living—no, not living—existing in a world that only reminded her of her disappointment?

_He saw her, his razor in her hand, the blade against her wrist. Already blood was trickling out, the red snapping him to action as he rushed forward, thrusting the door out of his way as he grabbed her other wrist and twisted, forcing her to let go. The razor clattered onto the bathroom tiles harmlessly._

_He wanted to slap her, to shake her out of whatever madness that compelled her to attempt suicide of her own. Instead, as she looked up at him, her blank eyes pooling with unspeakable sorrow and unending guilt, he held her, kissed her forehead. He didn't respond to the apologies she sobbed out or the voiceless screams she uttered, except to carry her to bed so he could bandage her wounds._

He still checks her every day, to make sure she will not do that again, to him. She is passive in everything she does now. Sometimes the dimmest of sparks returns to her eyes after a good session with her therapist, or when they sit together on the balcony outside, looking at the stars; he fights to keep the spark alive. He knows that she is a long way from truly living—

"…Aren…"

He jolts as if electrified. The word comes out in a harsh whisper, like the wind rattling an old window, but it is a word. He stares into her eyes inquisitively. She looks back, but he can't see his reflection in them. Her next words are quieter, and he can barely catch the syllables. He shakes his head.

"There's nothing to be sorry about."

What did his laughter sound like? Or was she to remember only his tears, his monotonous voice of accepting that she would never come back? No, remember his voice when it was light and free of the weights of this world he could not bear. His eyes, hollow and reflecting shades of melting snow; his hair, the brilliant red dulled into a tarnished shade of maroon; his smile, forced with each day.

She told him to be strong, to smile for her. She should have told him that it was okay to cry. Sometimes she wanted to blame Aisha, his friends, teachers, everyone else, for not having tried to save him. But she would always remind herself to never be that selfish. She was always the responsible one.

Rumours of her malice only increased as she left Altera only several days after the burial. But Aren had insisted on it; he said lingering for too long would destroy her, like an infected wound that would fester if untreated. He was earnest when he needed to be.

"_N__ū__na, when will we see mom and dad again?" Their relatives were none too gentle in telling the boy that his parents were dead. But did he really understand?_

"_We'll see them someday. But till then, you've got me." She swore to herself she would not cry today. "I know it's not enough but I'll never leave you, okay?"_

_He eagerly hugged her back, snuggling for warmth._

He notices that she is wearing his shirt, again. He doesn't mind it; it actually gives him relief that, despite all this, she finds comfort in him like this. Elesis isn't one for words and flowers, but it's the little things that count. She must not forget to take her medication again. He's careful not to push her away as he reaches for the bottles on the nightstand.

"Hm?" He cranes his head. Then he gives a weary smile and plants a light kiss on her lips. They used to taste of salt. "Of course. Do you need to ask? Unless…unless you _want_ it to change?"

She shakes her head, almost vehemently.

He places the tablets in her outstretched hand, holding her cup of tea. It is still warm. "You have me. That will never change." He watches her drink the pills down. His eyes hold a tender gaze.

"_I promise to come back. You can't break a promise." She said to placate him, to give him something to cling onto while she was gone. "Remember that."_

She hated falling asleep. He always visited her dreams, calling out to her. He would reach to her as the dark clouds smothered him and took him away while she was powerless to do anything but watch. He would cry, and she was crying too, the tear tracks fresh on her cheeks as she would bolt awake. It didn't hurt any less when Aren said he didn't mind her frequent nightly outbursts, even with the dark circles that smudged his fair face.

He never tells her that the pain will mitigate with time, or that it was not her fault. Because he knows that time doesn't heal, only numbs, and that she _was_ responsible. She never shirks from her duty and Aren never coddles her with fake comforts.

"Ara called. She's worried about you." He says.

Ara. Ara Haan. She remembers the name. Her mind invokes an image of a girl, smaller than her, but with the same golden eyes as her lover. A little older than Elsword, she is on a holy pilgrimage throughout Fahrmann as a worshipper of the Haan's patron deity, Eun. Aren has a little sister, but he cares for her, even when far apart. He is a better person than her.

"She loves you too, you know." He strokes her hair, the crimson shades gleaming softly in the faint starlight that seeps in through the curtains.

"_I'm sorry, little brother."_

"_It's okay. I understand." She could hear his disappointment, but she would make it up to him later. She swore she would._

"_You always do."_

"_Yeah. Sure. Of course."_

"_Love you, little brother. I'll be home soon."_

"I love you." She whispers into his shoulder, her eyes drifting. The medication's effect is potent as her eyes flicker once, then close.

Her voice is a leathery breath, but he knows. His arms remain around her as he, too, closes his eyes in respite.

She would learn to live without him. That revelation was harder to accept than the fact that she lost him forever.


	5. Rena's Sufferance

**Acceptance; a luxury for the innocent, the strong, and the compassionate.**

**AvidMind:** Yes, my original draft labelled her to be 'Acceptance', but she must suffer deeply to earn her ability to recover. I believe that she, as a character, has admirable resilience and will, which is her greatest strength. And her undoing.

**princechung:** Yes, the five stages of grief. Or was it loss? Regardless, both grief and loss are usually very sad elements.

**HelloKitty: **That was what I had intended :)

**Letty:** Grief can drive people to do unreasonable and foolishly insane actions. The burden of guilt and shame is heavier upon Elesis, presumably due to her relationship to Elsword (or lack thereof) and she is broken by it. She is indeed lucky to have Aren for support.

I'm not sure that the suicide could have been so easily prevented; maybe it could have. It could have taken a single action or word by Aisha or Elesis to keep him from toppling over the edge. Point is, nobody can know for sure. The only person who _did_ know took his own life, and any knowledge that could have stopped the tragedy from happening.

Angst is good. I like angst. Chung and Ara appear in another Elsword School AU I wrote before titled Evanescent. You can read that if you wish to see them as students :) Thank you for your support.

**UNKNOWN:** I aim to please. There is beauty in sadness and pain that can be appreciated by few, for the imperfections and pain highlight the breaking beauty. I understand your opinion; Prices lacks the finesse in the portrayals of grief I exhume in my other stories because Prices is more faithful to the canonical storyline whereas in Smile or Vertigo, I stray a tad more from the original plotline. Thank you for your support.

* * *

Her last class finished early. Just as well; her schedule for today—and every day for the next few weeks—was packed. There was the ceremony—_her_ graduation ceremony—to prepare, and the journey home after that, where her family was waiting.

After all, she was an international student, having come to Altera to study in its renowned university and use the degree to live comfortably back home.

The days were getting longer now, with the sun eager to rise and slow to set. She liked the sun; it was warm and soft and the light mingled with her hair, making them look like molten gold.

Walking to the dorms, she savoured the promenade, a rare moment where she was not studying, folding clothes into her suitcase, or ticking down the list of presents for her friends and family. Her time as a student was drawing to a close, but if anything, her agenda had never been so hectic.

"Hi, Rena!" An acquaintance waved at her.

"Hey!"She smiled back as she hurried on her way.

_With her absence at the time, she had been spared from the brunt of the immediate chaos that had ensued upon the suicide. Sander was a remotely isolated place in the continent; the news had only reached her through Raven's blunt manner several weeks after, which did little to soften the impact._

_The aftermath was little better. Raven had betrayed her, a fact which his whore of a 'friend' Serine took no small amount of pleasure in gloating. When she had finally returned to Altera, alone, the mourning for Elsword Sieghart had mitigated, the masses already having moved on._

Altera was one of the most populated and technologically advanced cities in Lurensia. Rena remembered that it was a huge culture shock to her, as she was from a small town community that bordered a large forest. It took months for her to adjust to the loud noises, the many people, and the conspicuous lack of nature. It should be good to return home.

Home. What a nostalgic word that made her feel warm yet pained inside.

She missed Eryuell. It was barely a speck on the map, but it was home. Her home, where everyone had roused in celebration on the day she had received her acceptance letter. She had been eager then, to explore the world from the confines of the island.

Perhaps it was good that she and Raven had split before her inevitable return. Sometimes she still felt torn between here and there. She had only spent five years in Altera, but it felt like home. But she missed home in Eryuell, too.

Having been to Altera, Sander and all over the world had made her realize just how small Eryuell was, and not just geographically. When she returned to the island, she could bring change to her community. She had hopes and dreams, dreams that were encouraged by her professors and friends.

_His friends were…well, not his friends anymore. Aisha was possessed by an unhealthy resentment, blaming everyone and everything. After several angry outbursts, Rena gently but firmly kept the younger girl at a distance; while she readily offered comfort to any crying soul, she did not exist to be abused as an emotional doormat._

_With distance came indifference, and with indifference came politeness. Rena was still friendly to the younger girl, but never came close enough to be burdened. Perhaps Aisha saw this as a betrayal and another reason to remain bitter._

Words hurt. As mature as Rena tried to be, sometimes words spilled out of her, words she wished she hadn't meant. It was an old **wound**. But perhaps Aisha hurt more. No one could carry such resentment and not have it damage the psyche.

She would know. Grudges and anger were terrible, toxic, and powerful things. Perhaps Eve handled it better?

_Evangeline had always been the voice of pragmatism, and if she was still distraught she showed little sign of it. Last time Rena checked on her she had already secured an esteemed position at Altera Core as part of her Co-operative Education program. She was doing successful so far, and Rena couldn't be more proud of her._

_The subject of their late friend had popped up often in the beginning. It was from those conversations that Rena learned of Evangeline's liking for Elsword (she had an idea of it, but feigned ignorance for the sake of Eve's dignity) and Evangeline realized how lonely he might have been. None of them were guilty of the suicide, but still… responsible._

_Time may have had stopped forever for the boy, but they continued living, growing, learning. Eventually Evangeline stopped mentioning him altogether, especially after she had befriended some international student from Hamel. What was his name again?_

When she returned to Eryuell, she would change her community. Everyone had held high hopes for her even before she went to university. She could become a leader, bringing change while honouring tradition. Was that too idealistic of her, to think she could change the world?

But her dreams could wait—for now. On top of her graduation and repatriation, there was another event soon to be held in Eryuell that attracted great excitement and festivity—a wedding, no less!

Marriage was a sacrament in Eryuell culture. It was a blessed union, but also a show of divine grace. It promised happiness and prosperity, though it wasn't always the case.

_Renata had heard of, even talked to, the elder sister. Elisabeth; a pretty name for a poor girl whose life was ruined forever. Of course there must be an explanation as to why she had abandoned her brother for years. Surely there were reasons that justified such neglect. Still, such irresponsibility irritated her. Remorse _after _death was meaningless and for Rena, it stirred little sympathy. Pity, yes, but not sympathy._

_And she heard that she was going to be married, with Elsword a groomsman; another ruined dream now._

Her second cousin Lirabelle was getting married to her long-time sweetheart László. Renata smiled to think of the couple; she had met them on her last vacation. He was a stoic character, but Renata had an eye to see what others could not—and it was obvious that he adored Lire, as he called her.

_Last time they met, Elisabeth was demanding, even accusatory, of everyone who was close to Elsword. Rena refused to be a player of the blame game, and through the other girl's bitterness and devastation, she saw that Elisabeth was a rotten husk collapsing on itself._

_Yes, marriage was a faraway dream for her, if it was revivable at all._

László was not a native of the island, which already made him alien to the conservatives of the island. Lirabelle had met him while she was on her pilgrimage on the other side of the world—Aernas. As if that wasn't scandalous enough, he had no connections and was identified to be a _honhyeol_—one of mixed blood; a crossbreed.

The worst was probably the fact that Lirabelle's elder brother, Vladimir, was the youngest of the Eryuellan Council, a die-hard traditionalist, and as such, extremely opposed to László getting anywhere near his only sister.

_Elisabeth had accused, pleaded, and cried on her shoulder; a mess. But by then Rena knew the consequences of shouldering excessive guilt on her shoulders and told the woman that she was lucky to still have her fiancé—or whatever he was now—still by her side._

_Such emotional baggage was a heavy burden that few would have the courage and commitment to bear for another._

Apparently Lire wasn't as big a pushover everyone thought her as because she fought vehemently, and the resulting chaos was only calmed when the Chief Elder suggested a compromise: if László proved his worth, then he would be bestowed citizenship of Eryuell. There would be no controversy in marrying another native.

Lire was a dear cousin. Rena was glad to know that she would finally get her own happiness. Eryuell weddings were rustic compared to the luxury of Altera, but the days of feasting and dancing and music to celebrate such an occasion outshone diamond trimmings and puffed dresses.

"_He indicated that these were yours." Bits of dust caked the edges and corners. It smelled musty, as if it had never been used in a very long time. She remembered what she had packed in them: the container with the red lid had potato gratin. There were also quinoa salad, bean and cheese enchiladas, macaroni casserole…_

_The plastic containers were empty now; he had eaten them. The authorities had also told her that he kept all her handwritten letters in a drawer, not a single one lost. They had agreed that she was the one who was closest to him, closer than any of his blood relatives._

_His personal journal—sporadically written, often nothing more than a couple of words per entry—said he missed her._

_When she first got the containers back, she tossed them into the sink before the tears poured out._

Times of joy, days of tears, moments of hope; the sky was a canvas of colours, with shades of red and pink bleeding into the gold of the sun. No two sunsets were ever the same.

What seemed like eons ago, she would look into the reddish hues of the sky and only see anger, rage, a reminder of her failures and the blood she felt was on her hands. Other times she saw a pale, colourless blue and feel only cold emptiness. Sometimes she saw gold, his eyes, warm and blazing; when she believed he loved her, and felt bitterness.

"_Thank you." She stared at the floor. "Thank you for being there for him when I wasn't."_

_Rena stared at the other girl. Yes, she was there for Elsword, but not enough. Not enough, never enough. What did that matter now? Should've, could've, would've; Rena had done her best. Now she was realizing that sometimes the best wasn't enough. But did this girl, his sister, try her best?_

_It was obvious that Elisabeth resented, perhaps envied, her relationship to the deceased boy. Rena nodded, her face remaining neutral. "Take care of yourself."_

Now? There was still a flicker of nostalgia, regret, some dregs of guilt and irritation, but much of the sting was gone. As the world changed, so did she. It did no good to remain stagnant.

She never did talk to Add for the remainder of her school years; what little she knew of him was from Evangeline's disgust of the boy. One day she simply stopped seeing him around campus; not that he was sorely missed by anyone.

Raven—his real name she would never tell—had also disappeared. He was branded a dropout failure, a textbook example of the "once a criminal, always a criminal" motto. Two years ago Rena would have found it sweet revenge. Now she felt pity, and only a _hint _of mean gladness.

Serine was somehow smart enough to still stay in school; then again, her program was easy as it was practically useless. She largely ignored Rena apart from the occasional taunt when bumping into each other in the hallways.

But where her old friends vanished, new ones took their place. Renata was not the core of the university social circle, but she found people who appreciated her company. They helped her piece herself together. She smiled again. Two years was a long time, but also a fleeting one. She didn't forget, but she tried not to linger in pain. It was hard to honour past memories while appreciating the present and aspiring for the future.

She accepted the past. The present was chaotically optimistic, and the future brightened with dreams.

When she finally collapsed on her bed, exhausted from the day's works, the first stars wished her goodnight.

* * *

**Does this count as closure for any of them? Can't say. The only character who truly found closure was Elsword, by death. For the others, life goes on. Or it doesn't, if they choose to remain in the past.**

**Hope you enjoyed :)**


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